ing
prayers, and with these sacred conjurations on their lips they gained on
the cattle length by length, though the Scarlet Hunter rode abreast
of the thundering horde. Within easy range, Trafford swung his gun
shoulder-wards to fire, but at that instant a cloud of snow rose up
between him and his quarry so that they all were blinded. And when they
came into the clear sun again the buffalo were gone; but flaming arrows
from some unseen hunter's bow came singing over their heads towards the
south; and they obeyed the sign, and went back to where Hester wore her
life out with anxiety for them, because she knew the hopelessness of
their quest. Women are nearer to the heart of things. And now she begged
Trafford to go southwards before winter froze the plains impassably, and
the snow made tombs of the valleys. Thereupon he gave the word to go,
and said that he had done wrong--for now the spell was falling from him.

But she, seeing his regret, said: "Ah, Just, it could not have been
different. The passion of it was on you as it was on us, as if to teach
us that hunger for happiness is robbery, and that the covetous desire of
man is not the will of the gods. The herds are for the Mighty Men when
they awake, not for the stranger and the Philistine."

"You have grown wise, Hester," he replied.

"No, I am sick in brain and body; but it may be that in such sickness
there is wisdom."

"Ah," he said, "it has turned my head, I think. Once I laughed at all
such fanciful things as these. This Scarlet Hunter, how many times have
you seen him?"

"But once."

"What were his looks?"

"A face pale and strong, with noble eyes; and in his voice there was
something strange."

Trafford thought of Shangi, the Indian,--where had he gone? He had
disappeared as suddenly as he had come to their camp in the South.

As they sat silent in the growing night, the door opened and the
Scarlet Hunter stood before them. "There is food," he said, "on the
threshold--food for those who go upon a far journey to the South in the
morning. Unhappy are they who seek for gold at the rainbow's foot,
who chase the fire-fly in the night, who follow the herds in the White
Valley. Wise are they who anger not the gods, and who fly before the
rising storm. There is a path from the valley for the strangers, the
path by which they came; and when the sun stares forth again upon the
world, the way shall be open, and there shall be safety for you until
your travel